


The Worship Kink

by Mikaeru



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikaeru/pseuds/Mikaeru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they had sex, Sherlock was quiet. John had never thought that Sherlock could be quiet, in any sense.<br/>The second time, and the third, and the fourth – Sherlock never screamed, never scratched his back, never asked to be fucked. Even when he came, in every second he was Sherlock, and John hated that he can’t drove him crazy, like he lost himself on the road, like the orgasm was such a powerful experience – for Sherlock seemed to be like a beautiful, deeply black night sky covered in stars: yes ,it’s  beautiful, but not really my area.<br/>John found it stressing, unnerving, he really hated it. If he would have want selfish sex, he would had masturbated. He wanted to have sex with an active Sherlock, or he would have no sex at all.<br/>He had to find the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worship Kink

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language, so if you find any mistake, be free to let me know :3

The first time they had sex, Sherlock was quiet. John had never thought that Sherlock could be quiet, in any sense. When he masturbated, thinking about him, fantasizing about his legs, his hands, his (sometimes full) mouth, John thought of Sherlock as a screamer; he thought that the morning after he would had to apologize to mrs Hudson for the noise – he thought that Sherlock’s deep baritone voice would have made a variety of moans, groans, that type of noises John dreamed about almost once a week - his body under his own, his legs open apart, his pale, long neck covered in love bites and marks, the room full of _John, John, John!_. Sherlock was a noisy, inopportune, childish presence. He was entirely sure that he would have found it funny to embarrass him with screams and “Oh, please John, fuck me with your giant cock, I want nothing but be filled in my arse and my mouth with your cock and your fingers, oh please John let the Queen hear how big you are and what a whore I am, begging for your cock!”, and similar, shameful rubbish.

He barely said _yes_ and _John_ – he called him just once, in a needy whisper.

The first time they had sex, Sherlock was not really satisfied – not as John imagined.

Back in the days, John was known in the university as John “Three Continent” Watson because he had fucked girls with many different nationalities – Italian, Indian, Egypt, French, American, Japanese, and no one had never complained about his ability and technique. He had grown proud of them. He thought that with Sherlock would not be so difficult: clearly, he was wrong. Not a single scream. Sherlock came with a soft sound, like he wasn’t really satisfied – John thought he actually wasn’t, and it was a pity, mostly for Sherlock.

The very first morning after, he was scared that it would be the most awkward moment ever: he knew Sherlock, there was a 90% of probability that he was right. He was scared Sherlock started with a speech about his hormones and the natural response of his body and his penis and, clearly, his anus and _blah blah blah_. John was scared he would kill him with the cushions, if he actually started a morning like that. But it wasn’t: it was a very Sherlock-y, normal morning. They shared the last piece of mrs. Hudson’s cake and they drank hot milk and John found fingers in the cookie jar and they played Cluedo and John had a very hard headache because of him and his absurd theories, then they played poker but Sherlock didn’t like it at all – he got angry with the cards and John had to confiscate them in order to prevent a war.

The second time, and the third, and the fourth – Sherlock never screamed, never scratched his back, never asked to be fucked. Even when he came, in every second he was Sherlock, and John hated that he can’t drove him crazy, like he lost himself on the road, like the orgasm was such a powerful experience – for Sherlock seemed to be like a beautiful, deeply black night sky covered in stars: _yes ,it’s  beautiful, but not really my area_.

John found it stressing, unnerving, he really hated it. If he would have want selfish sex, he would had masturbated. He wanted to have sex with an active Sherlock, or he would have no sex at all.

He had to find the way.

***

“Good morning, Sherlock.”, John said softly when he noticed that Sherlock was blinking his eyes, apparently disoriented. He was probably asking himself  “Where the hell am I?”; he was kinda… cute, all messy and sleepy.

“’morning, John…”, he replied, then he yawned. “I’m hungry. Where are my underpants? I need them.”

“I’m hungry too. And they are…” John looked around, “they are there.”, pointing ~~his~~ index finger at a chair.

“Thank you.”, muttered Sherlock, standing up. “I’ll have a coffee, and a cupcake. Or two. Yes, two cupcakes.”

“We don’t have cupcakes.”

“I know. But Starbucks is open, at this hour,” he smiled, looking at him, “and today is your day off. Is there a better way to start your day off than satisfy your lover?”, Sherlock smiled, wearing his black underwear, with a little disappoint for John. He found marvelous his pale skin, his long neck and thighs, his pubic black hair, the naturalness of his motion, even if he was completely naked. Maybe not the best body he had  never seen, but absolutely his favorite.

“You really call yourself my lover?”, John said, raising an eyebrow, slightly amused.

“If with this I will obtain cupcakes, well, I’ll call myself your pet – also, you have to consider that I’ve been awake for just four minutes, and I didn’t sleep for more than five hours. I’m in a serious lack of sugar, John, and you wouldn’t like to see me in this mood. Not really. So, I’ll take a strawberry cupcake, thank you.”

He came back to the bed, covered himself – it was a particularly cold January – and took the phone to check his e-mails. Nothing interesting, judging by his nervous snort. John couldn’t stop staring at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned his head to him.

“John, are you deaf? Are you trying to read my lips?”

_Fuck, I want to fuck your lips, but it’s not the time._

“No, no, I… I want just ask you… a question.”

He had to know. Not for his pride – no, not really. He had to know how to satisfy Sherlock, because he did care about his pleasure, he really did.. “Do you not enjoy sex with me?”

It was the Sherlock’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and to look at him like he was an idiot.

“Obviously I enjoy sex with you, John, for what other] reason would I let you fuck me?”

John rolled his eyes, a little. “I don’t know. But… you don’t seem to enjoy it. You just lie under me, all that you do is to spread your legs and I have to do all the work.”

 “What a drudgery work you have, don’t you? You should call the trade union, protest for this unfairness! I can do it for you, if you’re too ashamed.”

“You really are a idiot.”

“I’m not the one who is complaining about fucking me.”

John snorted, never stopped to stare at Sherlock’s eyes.

“I don’t like to do all the work when I fuck. I’d like to know what you like, in bed.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t know. I was virgin before you, and I was never interested – not too much, not enough to do research on Internet or to download porn movies. I enjoy this kind of sex – I mean, anal sex. Maybe oral sex, maybe hand jobs. Maybe kinky sex, like handcuffs or riding crops. I don’t really know. It’s a not a matter of sex, or body, or something like this. I have sex because of you, because you are you, John. I don’t know what I enjoy, what I do like.”, he shrugged again, “We have to try, I think.”

“We have to try.”, repeated John, a little despondent. He stood up, catching his shirt and his trousers: he had to buy cupcakes.

***

When he thought about Sherlock, the first words that shone in his mind were egocentric, then unbearable, then _Oh my God Sherlock please shut the fuck up_. But the very first one was egocentric – and selfish. Sherlock seemed always pretty proud of himself, of his mind and his body, how he looked: John never thought too much about the clothes and that stuff.

So, the first thing that popped out in his mind was: phone-sex. More precisely, sexting.

It was a sunny Friday and Sherlock left 221b at six a.m., rambling about a man and a woman and children and – he can’t properly remember, it was six in the fucking morning. He got up at half past nine, and at ten o’ clock he was sipping his strawberry flavored tea, thinking about what to write to Sherlock. He found funny the idea of writing him naughty messages while he was working.

 _What are you wearing?,_ he wrote to Sherlock, as a little smile opened on his lips.

_You saw me this morning, you already know._

_Tell me again, it was too early and I’ve got a short memory._

_You don’t, actually. But let’s play this stupid game. I’m wearing that shirt you named the purple shirt of sex, and jeans. And the coat, obviously._

_That pair of jeans that perfectly shows me your ass?_

_… yes, I think, that pair of jeans._

_I haven’t touched you in four days._

_I know, John, I’m the other half of the moon._

_Now I’m so hard just imaging you in that shirt and jeans._

_… yes._

_Can you imagine me taking off your coat, just your coat, and fuck you on the kitchen table? Just with your jeans and pants at your ankles._

_Yes, I can, we already had this intercourse._

_Are you aroused?_

_No._

_… why not?_

_The table is too cold. It’s December, John._

_… you have to imagine, Sherlock._

_I imagine the coldness._

_… no, I think you don’t understand. You have to imagine the sensation._

_They’re as cold as the table. Now I have to work, John. Bye._

***

At ten p.m. there was not a single trace of Sherlock. John was looking around in the apartment, snorting, eating meatball with sauce in front of the television. The Doctor was screaming _Geronimo_ when Sherlock opened the door.

“I’m not used to masturbation.” was the first thing he said, in the way that the normal people say “I just met Caroline, you know, my schoolmate, you remember her?”

“That thing you tried, phone sex –”

“Sexting, technically.”, he corrected him, still a bit angry at him. _We have to try_ , Sherlock said. (in his mind, John repeated it mocking his deep voice) We have to try _my ass_ , John said to himself.

“Sexting, whatever, is a bit useless. Totally useless, technically.”

John rolled his eyes with impatience. He ate the last meatball while Sherlock was taking off his scarf. “Don’t mock me. It was a try –”

“A failed try.”

“A failed try. Why do you ever feel the need of underline all the things I don’t do well?”

“Because you can learn from your errors, this way.”

“Oh, piss off, Sherlock.”, he said with rage – there was nothing worse than that man. His man, unluckily the best and most impossible man he had ever met. “So, this is your turn. Suggest something.”

“I don’t think so.”, replied Sherlock, setting in his armchair. “I don’t really care. You are the one who wants so desperately to fuck ~~.~~ ”

“I am not desperate to fuck, Sherlock, I just want to – oh, nevermind. I’ll think of it myself.”

“You’re such a brave soldier, John Watson. Do you want a prize? A teddybear?”

“Piss off.”

“You already said it twenty seconds ago. You’re starting to be repetitive. Is it the first sign of the old age?”

“Piss. Off.”

“Yes sir. Is there any meatball for me? I’m hungry.”

“In the fridge, next to the red-head head.”

“Nice choice.”

“You are a bit too sarcastic, tonight –”

“I had Anderson around me all day long.”

“… yes, poor thing, you had Anderson. and it was a bad day for me, today. I had to go to the ambulatory in my bloody day off and you had been… yourself, as usual. Do you remember how I react to bad days, do you?”

“Drinking until you vomit your soul?”

“… eat in silence, Sherlock. I don’t want to hear a word.”

“Yes sir.”

“Sherlock!”

***

Sherlock pick pocketed Lestrade a little too much, John always thought. Now, he found that flaw of Sherlock his only salvation. He took up the first pair of handcuffs he touched, and decided that they were perfect.

Sherlock waited for him in his room, a bit annoyed.

“John, for God’s sake, how much do I have to wait?”

John, without a word, came in the room and tied him to the headboard. _The ability of the soldier_ , he said to himself, a little proud..

“What…?”, Sherlock started to say, but John shouted him with a violent kiss. He spread his legs with impetuosity.

“Shut up.”, ordered him, with a firm voice.

Sherlock arched his eyebrow, with a budding rage. “… I’m sorry?”

“I said shut up, you little whore. I know you like it. ”

The more John looked serious the more Sherlock forgot his rage.

“… I beg your pardon?”,  he repeated, suppressing ad hysterical laugh.

“I say – oh, fuck off, this is bloody ridiculous.”, John said, with a frustrated voice, “I thought, maybe you have a power kink because of your strong and independent personality, I read a similar thing on the Internet, but it’s evident I was wrong.”

“You’re completely wrong. Untie me.”

“… do I have to?”

“You have to.”

“But you are so beautiful. You can’t move.”, sighed John, “I thought about gagging you. A Sherlock who can’t talk, the English dream. Donovan would send me gifts for the rest of my life, as would Anderson. And the whole of Scotland Yard. Maybe Mycroft would, too.”

“Are you aroused because of this? Me tied up and gagged?”

“No, not really, actually.”

“…sometimes I can’t understand you.”

“Welcome to my world.”, John sighed again, following Sherlock’s order.

***

When John arrived home, Sherlock was eating a biscuit on his armchair. When John kissed his lips, they tasted like the sweetest sugar. Not really his taste, but he liked it, nevertheless.

“John? Are you not hungry? Mrs. Hudson –”

“I want you now, Sherlock – my beautiful Sherlock. I had an idea, at work, a brilliant idea, the _right_ idea, and all I wanted all day was to put it in practice.”

John took his hand and lifted him up. He started to caress his cheek, and mumbling his name. “My beautiful, wonderful Sherlock. The best man of England, the brain.”

Sherlock’s eyes started to glaze, his lips started to make a little smile but real smile.

“John…?”

“I’m so lucky I have you, Sherlock Holmes.”, he said gently, looking at his eyes. Sherlock knew he was totally sincere, because he knew John was totally devoted to him – even when he was really tired of him, he never actually would have left him on his own. All those compliments – they were new beats of Sherlock’s heart.

John started to unbutton his pale grey shirt, never stopped looking at him, smiling. He pushed Sherlock into his room, kissing his lips, his neck. “I love your smell, you know? I could recognize it in a crowd, among billion of people. It’s so unique, so yours, my Sherlock.”

For the first time in his life, Sherlock didn’t speak. He was listening and loving every single word, and John loved it. He let him lay down on the bed, and he put himself between his legs. He took off  his shirt, and he left a kiss in the exact center of his chest. “You’re so beautiful. And brilliant.”, he said, taking off his jeans.

“You’re brilliant, Sherlock.”, he repeated, softly, against his pale skin. He kissed his chest, and Sherlock made a little, soft sound of pleasure. Sherlock was almost naked, his half-erected member was pushing against his pants, and he was nibbling his lower lip, his eyes closed. “You are so, so brilliant.”, John murmured, smiling a little, licking his neck, slowly. “You’re the most brilliant creature I ever met, the brightest man who walks this earth. I adore you, you’re exceptional, unbelievable, the most intelligent and the bravest, the best man I ever knew.”

Sherlock arched his back, just a little, when John started to kiss him on the stomach, gently biting his bellybutton. He was so tempted to suck him off, but it would have interfered with his plan, that little experiment of him. He restricted himself to touch him over the pants. He ran his fingers over Sherlock’s.

“And you are so beautiful, Sherlock – Jesus, I never met neither a man nor a woman as gorgeous as you. Your eyes, their color, I love them, you know? And your skinny arms, the profile of your bones, your pale skin… and all your little birthmarks. This one…”, and he kissed the mole over his eyebrow, “and this one…”, a kiss to the one above his bellybutton, “and these two…”, a kiss on the neck, near to the shoulder, “and this one.”, a kiss near his Adam’s apple, “and this one…” a kiss on the hand. “Oh, your hands, your beautiful fingers, they are so long and skinny, I adore them when you play the violin. Oh, there are some days that all I want to do is to listen you play your violin. You’re so talented couldn’t believe my ears the first time I heard you. You’re so gifted, Sherlock.”

“You thought about this all day long John?”

“Every single day I spent in this house I think about how much I am fortunate and how you are wonderful and brilliant, Sherlock.”

John said his lover’s name with such sweetness that Sherlock was literally going crazy. All he wanted was to listen to his voice again and again and again.

John kissed his mouth, caressed his lips with his tongue.

“How much do you love me, John?”, asked Sherlock with a low voice, while John’s hands were, again, over his erection. He could feel those little circles over its head. He closed his eyes and moaned, gripping the sheet under his hands.

“So much I can’t stand a day without you, Sherlock, my moon and stars.”

“My moon and stars? Really?”, Sherlock laughed a little. John bit his lips.

“Oh, shut up, you like it.”, replied John, kissing his shoulder. “My wonderful Sherlock, you like every word as a compliment. You are never satisfied. Oh, I love you so much. You are so skinny but so strong, so fast, you are perfect, how can you be so perfect?”

The friction over his cock became more rapid, the movements dictated by Sherlock’s. John was right, after all: nothing satisfied Sherlock more than compliments – _his_ compliments.

“You are so beautiful like this, Sherlock. I’d like to film you, to imprint you forever on a tape – you’re already imprinted in my mind, every single movement, every single breathe, every single bead of sweat and smile and word. I’m so glad you are mine, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock held out his arms around John’s neck, starting to breath heavier, almost panting.

“John –”, he said with a broken voice.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes, my annoying, childish, perfect man, the only consulting detective in the world, the king of the world, of any world…”

And Sherlock came with a scream, holding John a little too tight – but John didn’t care. He kissed his forehead, “My Sherlock Holmes.”, and his lips, letting him rest against his chest.

His beautiful Sherlock Holmes.

***

Sherlock’s breath was soft against his chest. He was calm, like a cat, and satisfied – John could see that in his little smile. He ran his fingers through his curls. He was a little disappointed when Sherlock didn’t purr.

“I could entitle this adventure The Worship Kink.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”


End file.
